I Met A Man Once…

Get this, so…

I was headed down the garden path when I met a man, alone in the woods.

I was on my merry way but he grabbed my attention, so I stopped to talk. He had a fire going and meat on a spit. He was more than happy to share, at least I thought he was.

All he said to me was, “I ain’t caring ‘bout carrying day old carrion.”, so I took that as an invitation to sit and eat.

The meat was good, hot at least, a little salt would’ve been nice, but I wasn’t about to complain about free food. Though I soon realised it wasn’t free.

At first I thought he had seasoning when he offered a single word in the form of a question, “Sage?”

Confused, I looked down at my unseasoned food and unwittingly said yes.

He responded with a simple nod then abruptly gave up stoking the fire and tending to the meat. He then swivelled on his seat to face me square on, while placing both hands firmly on each knee. He then took a deep breath in, staring me straight in the eyes, then closed them as he exhaled.

I audibly gulped.

He may have even heard me but he didn’t say anything, until that is I learned what he meant my ‘sage’.

“By my reckonin, there are three things in life ya need...”. Eyes still closed.

I was relieved cause what he was offering, I discovered, was advise, and despite myself, I was intrigued.

I mean, the man looked like he’d been out there for ages. His pack was tattered though still in one piece, his clothes hadn’t seen soap and water in months, and his tent was propped up by a particularly sturdy branch. But given all that, he couldn’t have seemed happier.

Now, I believe, if someone has found happiness somewhere, or with something, it’s worth hearing about, so I gave the man the only thing I could offer at the time.

My full attention.

I turned to face him, matching is alignment. He opened his eyes, saw me still there, and gave another nod. He then reached for a piece of meat for himself and took a bite.

It wasn’t easy but I managed to pick out a few key words between his noshing and chewing. I got, ‘comb’, ‘parachute’, and ‘horseshoe’.

It was an odd set of words for sure and there was no discernible way to tie them together, at first anyway…

But I’ll get to that.

The man seemed chuffed when he finished talking, and, after, he watched me with a gruff but giddy sense anticipation.

There was an awkward pause as he waited for my response. I had nothing, absolutely nothing! What could I even say?

Anyway, I had to think fast so I used his own method against him. I uttered one word in the form of a question.

“Comb?”

He smiled, and said “Mhmm, that’s right, there’s no place like Comb.”

No place… like comb? Is that what he said?, I was thinking to myself.

I had a look at his head. He had overgrown peppery hair which had long since seen a comb, and if it ever did I’d say it would break just attempting to tame the manly mane. And the same could be said about his scruffy beard.

So instead, I thought maybe he’d meant ‘home’, as in Kansas, as in ruby slippers, flying monkeys and wicked witches, but I wasn’t so sure after I asked my next question.

“A fan of The Wizard Of Oz, then?” I asked.

“Hmm? Ahh.. no I don’t know no wizard.” He said.

He looked puzzled after he spoke, like I was the odd one talking about wizards in a forest and not combs. Anyway, I moved on quickly to ask about said combs, and what he really meant by it.

He enlightened me with this follow up, “There is no place like Comb. It’s cosy, familiar, and none too surprisin. Ya carry it ‘round with ya, where ever ya go.”

I thought on it for a moment. It was almost profound, I mean, I guess what he was trying to illustrate was how familiarity is a comfort. We, as people, like the things around us that we can rely on, depend upon, like a comb in a pocket. So simple a metaphor, but potent.

By then I was hooked, he’d sucked me in. It was a odd but reasonable explanation I figured, and I needed to know what he had to offer for ‘parachute’ and ‘horseshoe’.

It had to be good, right?

Anyway, I returned him a nod, like his own, in response, then ran the test again.

“Parachute?” I said with a slight shrug.

“Yes sir.” He said, “Parachutes are like maps that lead to buried treasure.”

Buried treasure he says, it was baffling!

He gave me a wink when he said that last bit, and tapped his nose. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion, but sure enough, he revealed a small roll of parchment in the cup of his hand.

And I don’t mean a coffee stained piece of paper, it was real parchment, like I’d never seen before.

That said, he didn’t show me it exactly, it was only a glimpse, but it certainly got me thinking.

In the moment, it all suddenly it made perfect sense to me, like why else would he be out there. Its was pretty far off the beaten track and if he had a way of hiding he could keep out of sight well enough if he wanted too. Either way, he continued after I asked him to explain.

“Parachutes are like treasure maps. Ya don’t need one to get out the door, but it’s exceedingly nice to have one if ya do.”

Brilliant I thought, it was amazing, he had such a way of breathing life into a ‘call to adventure’, something I knew I was missing in my own life.

Suddenly I felt like Dorothy wondering the land Oz, but I was Dorothy at the end of the movie when she finally realises she had the power all along. I felt like I could do anything, overcome all life’s hurdles, experience everything!

I just had to know what came next, like was it really a treasure map he had in his hand? Did he want me to help him find it? But, more importantly, how did it relate to ‘horseshoe’?

It was surely the final piece of the strange puzzle I’d stumbled upon.

So next, I did want any reasonable person would do, stick with what works. Again, for a third time, I responded with a question.

“Horseshoe?”

I basically blurted it, it was like it was urgent. I was so excited and he could tell. He just smiled at me and then said,

“Right for a third time there, chief. They’re great for rotisserie.”

He then returned to the meat and fire.

I was thinking, ‘Was that it?’. Like, what about another profound insight, but no, that was it. So, I just asked him.

“Sorry, rotisserie? Is that what you said?”

He stared at me blankly, then gestured toward his hand above the fire. He was turning the meat with a horseshoe, a literal horseshoe, he had fastened it to the side of the spit as a crank. I will admit it was effective but not what I was expecting.

He was done after that, had nothing else to say it seemed. He just left me hanging, that was it.

By then I was completely confused. I thought maybe I read into the situation way to much. He simply wished to express is gratitude for combs, parachutes and horseshoes I guess. But wait, what about the treasure map, right?

Well, I forget too for a moment, but asked him immediately when I remembered.

I said it to him straight, figured he’d appreciate that, “Excuse me, but did I see a map in your hand earlier? Maybe… a treasure map?”.

I tapped my nose in the same way he did before.

Again, he abruptly stopped what he was doing. He shifted in his seat while bringing his arm around with the parchment. He leaned in toward me as he glanced around for any would-be lurkers, and when he was satisfied he handed me the parchment.

It was a rolled up scroll.

I eagerly snatched from his hand, it had to be good, it was buried treasure after all!

I took it blindly as I couldn’t take my eyes from his sudden beaming smile. But eventually I did look down.

I unfurled the scroll slowly, revealing only small text at first.

I unfurled some more, and more text was revealed.

By the time I’d unfurled it completely I knew. I knew without a doubt that it was a treasure map about as much as I was Dorothy from Kansas.

A bitter, bitter disappointment. And what’s more was that it did have something written there. Three words written in charcoal, you can probably guess which three.

In all the excitement, I hadn’t noticed the man transform his tent into a shop front. He sat behind a flat rock which I assumed was his item table because neatly placed in a line was a comb, a used parachute, and a rusty horseshoe.

I didn’t notice when I first sat down, but he was wearing a pilots uniform. Yep, a pilots uniform. And behind him was the mangle remains of a small aircraft half buried under the encroaching moss and vines.

I was shocked as a very different picture started to form in my mind, but all I could think to say as I gazed upon his various trinkets, raggedy clothes and crazed smile was…

“Sir, how long have you been out here?”

And he, with a broad grin and wide-eyed intensity, said…

“We’re not in Kansas anymore.”